Page 6 of Man On

I bounce on the balls of my feet and juggle the ball while I wait for Lane to take position. He looks at his watch as if he has somewhere else to be other than getting his ass handed to him in front of a bunch of over-excited kids, but straightens when he notices me laughing to myself. Scowl in place, he marches onto the pitch, putting a good ten yards between us. Everything feels like it's happening in slow motion. I'm trapped in a déjà vu moment from last spring, when Lane and I were squaring off during a rec league championship game.

Everything around us seemed to slow and blur, like we were the only ones there on that field. Just before the whistle, I looked up and locked eyes with Lane. Ever since the kiss that broke our chance of ever being anything close to friends, he always looks at me the same way: like a shark who smells blood in the water. Like he'll bite my head off and swim away with the snack. Like he wants me and hates me at the same time.

It makes my veins vibrate.

He's looking at me that way now, taking the measure of me. Judging me. Inspecting me. It takes me a moment to realize I'm holding my breath, staring back at him dumbly. My body feels tingly all over. His head cocks to the side, as though he's trying to read my mind. We're locked like that, staring each other down, until the kids yell out for us to get on with it. Shaking the haze from my head, I surge forward, dribbling the ball straight towards him. In a real match, I'd take a wider berth, but I'm here to show him up.

In the blink of an eye, he's in front of me, his leg extending to attempt to steal the ball. I cut the ball back, crossing it between my legs, before changing direction. Just to be an asshole, I show off a lot of fancy footwork, laughing out loud at Lane's exasperated huffs of annoyance as I dribble and tease the ball around in circles. Through every maneuver, Lane stays on me. I feint right before crossing the ball to my left, kicking it past him. Knowing he's hot on my tail, I speed up, dribbling the ball closer to the net before I attempt to put it in. I can feel Lane dropping back as I put on an extra burst of speed.

Just as I'm rearing back my right leg to shoot for the goal, a solid body shoots out in front of me, taking me out at the legs. Lane executes a rough side tackle that would incur a foul at the level we're teaching, but he effectively kicks the ball out of bounds. My feet are swept out from under me, and I lurch forward, narrowly avoiding falling on my face or twisting any limbs. I end up landing directly on top of Lane's big, muscly body.

For a split second, we’re both still. I'm still processing his play, and whether it was legal, and my surprise at being taken out like that. The kids are going wild on the sidelines at the show we just put on. Shaking with laughter, I want to slap him on the shoulder and congratulate him for something I didn't know he had in him. I really didn't see him coming, and that's impressive considering the size of him. Our size difference is even more apparent when I'm sprawled out on top of him, all but straddling his waist. I'm suddenly over aware of all the parts of our bodies that are pressed against each other and the way I'm laying across his body. One thick thigh presses up between my legs, presumably trying to push me off him, and my body reacts.

Our eyes lock, Lane's grey-green irises flashing as he registers my involuntary reaction. That darkening of his eyes that reminds me so much of a shark sends a shiver down my spine, and my situation worsens. What was a small problem, something I could probably brush off and deny, is now a bona fide issue. Pun intended. And with two dozen eleven-and twelve-year-olds surrounding us, no less.

After barely a moment's hesitation, Lane has a jolt of realization, digging his fingers into my waist. He swiftly pushes me off him and to the side. Before I can register the way my shoulder hits the ground, he's up and storming off, calling out for the kids to do six laps before they head off to get ready for lunch. More than half the kids stay to gawk down at me as I pull my knees in, feigning a cramp, before I'm able to get up and walk without being too obvious. I still have to hold a soccer ball in front of me while I tell the kids they can skip Lane's suggestion of laps and they all run off the field happily.

What the fuck just happened?

Lane is absent from lunch and spends the rest of the day avoiding me at all costs. We hold a scrimmage so we can stand on opposite sides of the field. I don't even know who wins. I'm too distracted by overthinking what happened. Fucking teenage hormones. It didn't mean anything. These days a stiff breeze gets me hard. He knows that, right? For whatever reason, I desperately need him to know that. To acknowledge it.

By dinnertime, I've driven myself mad worrying over the entire situation. He wasn't in our room to get cleaned up for dinner, and I don't see him around the mess hall. After dinner, everyone typically hangs out around the fire pits in the courtyard. The owner of the camp will usually bring out his guitar, which either provides a relaxing backdrop to the chatter, or it becomes a full-fledged singalong. Right now, a couple of kids from Miah's group are singing parody versions of popular songs, trying to one-up each other with how gross they can get away with being without incurring the wrath of the older staff members.

I walk around like I'm on patrol, shooing kids away from dark corners and making sure everyone is behaving, but really, I'm looking for Lane. I need to talk to him and make sure he understands that what happened earlier today was just a fluke, an awkward and embarrassing physical reaction that had absolutely nothing to do with him. Not because I give a fuck what he thinks about me, or because it feels like he's being even more pissy with me than usual.

I don't know why, really. Maybe because the fallout of the last time something like this happened was so catastrophic. Maybe because I want to throw it in his face that he was the one to pop a boner that last time, to take the pressure off my embarrassment from today.

And maybe there's a very, very small part of me that wants to look him in the eye and tempt fate. I like having something to taunt him with, something I can use to get under his skin and make him as uncomfortable as he makes me.

I finally spot his blond head, on the far edge of the courtyard, sitting with Maci. She has her arms wrapped around one of his large biceps while they talk to a couple of the older counselors. Lane looks stiff and uncomfortable, like he doesn't want to be there. He's all but leaning away from Maci, who keeps looking up at him and batting her eyes. Maci's been coming to this camp for as long as I have. This is the first summer she hasn't followed me around like that, but I never gave her the time of day. I can't stand how clingy she is when I give her even the smallest bit of attention. We made out once, right after the kissing incident three years ago. I’d wanted to redirect the attention from what happened, but she texted me nearly every day for a month after that. The next summer, when we returned with a warning that we wouldn't be welcomed back if either of us got into another fight, she acted like we'd been dating. No matter how dismissive I've been with her over the last couple summers, she's still following me around with heart eyes. Or she used to.

Now that she's turned her attention to my stepbrother, I feel weirdly possessive and angry. But which one of them am I feeling possessive about?

Lane is obviously not interested, but he's not actively pushing her away either. He's being kind, which in Maci's world is practically a commitment. She's leaning closer and closer, all but puckering up for him. Watching him squirm makes me chuckle, accidentally getting his attention. Our eyes meet over the flames, a reminder of another fire, another party, hitting me harder than his tackle did earlier. Pretending that I wasn't standing here watching him like some kind of creeper, I feign a carefree attitude, looking around at the other nearby people. I hadn't noticed Miah sitting across from Lane and Maci, but I pretend he's the man I came to see, patting him on the shoulder and making a joke about some of his kids getting rowdy at the singalong. He decides it's something he has to see and vacates his spot on the log.

My eyes keep finding Lane's again, the flickering flame of the campfire casting odd shadows that contort his chiseled features. He doesn't look away from me until Maci gets his attention, surprising him by putting her hand on his cheek and angling his face down to hers. His eyes flick back up to mine as her lips touch his. I don't look away, watching curiously as he submits to her kiss. It’s a dance, and she's the one leading; he does as she does, moving his lips the way she demands with her own. My lips part on a soft inhale, remembering the way he gasped into my mouth when my tongue accidentally brushed his. The way he shivered, and the jolt of exhilaration that coursed down my spine.

Blinking back that memory, and trying to play off the rush of blood that rushes to my crotch, I decide it's time to leave. I smirk at Lane knowingly, because the disinterested way he's kissing her, paired with the heat that just flashed through his eyes, says that maybe he was thinking about the same thing. And while I'd never admit to my own reaction, I know I'll always be able to use his against him.

With a final wink towards Lane, I turn in the direction that Miah went. But instead of heading to where I know my friend will be, I bypass the crowd and walk back to the cabin I’m forced to share with Lane. With all the confused thoughts and inappropriate boners that keep happening, I figure the best thing for me right now is a little alone time.

The moment the door closes behind me, I strip down and make a beeline for the shower. I let the steam build up in the room, lathering up my entire body with soap even though I'm really only in here to wash one thing. I stay in the shower until it runs cold, furiously stroking myself while trying not to think about my stepbrother's cold, hard stare. It isn't until I give in to the vision of him kissing Maci, glaring at me as his mouth moves against hers, that I finally get some relief. I pant as I get closer to release, coming with a whine that sounds too much like his name.

He’s fucking in my head.

When I step out of the bathroom, feeling both satiated and ashamed of myself, not to mention confused as hell, he's there. He's laying in his bed, his body turned towards the wall, pretending to be asleep. I know he's pretending because I've spent the last three weeks listening to the exact rhythm of his breaths when he's dead to the world, the way he mutters and whines in his dreams, and the way he shoots up out of nightmares in the early hours of the morning.

I know he's pretending, but I still drop my towel and pad around the cabin butt-naked. I do it because I know nudity makes him uncomfortable. He doesn't even dress in the locker rooms at school or camp, he always changes in a bathroom stall, and waits to shower when he gets home. I pull on a pair of sleep pants, skipping underwear because they'll feel too tight and make it even harder to sleep. Dropping into bed, I lay on my side, facing him, and listen to the patterns of his breathing, the rustling of his sheets as he attempts to get comfortable. There's enough moonlight filtering in through the skylights to make out his general shape, and I find myself wondering if his eyes are open.

Did he hear me in the shower? Did he listen to me jerk off, knowing that I got hard for him earlier today? Did he jerk off too?

Was he angry about it?

Will he try to turn this around on me and humiliate me the way he did before?

CHAPTER 2

LANE

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